by Eugène Sue
“I believe in your courageous devotion, of course, but pray bind up your hand.”
“If mademoiselle desires it, of course, but this scratch is of no consequence, for the door is open, mademoiselle. I succeeded in prying out the staples of the padlock, and in removing an iron bar that also secured the door, which opens into the street exactly as I supposed.”
“You may be sure that I shall reward you, my dear Laîné, for this—”
“Oh, do not speak of rewarding me, I implore you, mademoiselle. Am I not more than paid in the pleasure of serving you? But mademoiselle will excuse me, I hope, for coming back contrary to her orders, but I was so delighted to have succeeded.”
“On the contrary I am very grateful for the zeal you have manifested. So you think we can count upon carrying out our plans to-morrow?”
“There isn’t the slightest doubt of that, now, mademoiselle.”
“Then have a very simple white dress ready for me to wear to-morrow evening, and as soon as it is dark you and I will go to Madame Herbaut’s. And once more let me remind you that I shall expect you to exercise the greatest caution.”
“Mademoiselle need have no anxiety on that account. Has mademoiselle any further orders?”
“No, I only desire to thank you again for your zeal.”
“Then I will bid mademoiselle good night.”
“Good night, my dear Laîné.”
The governess left the room and Mlle. de Beaumesnil resumed her writing.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
THE THREE RIVALS.
“IN ORDER TO fully understand these recent events, it is necessary to review the past, my dear mother,” Mlle. de Beaumesnil continued.
“The day after my arrival at my guardian’s house I went to church with Mlle. Helena, who during mass called my attention to a young man who was praying fervently before the same altar.
“This young man I afterwards learned was a M. Célestin de Macreuse.
“Mlle. Helena’s attention had been attracted to him, she told me, because, instead of kneeling upon a chair like every one else, he was kneeling upon the marble floor of the church. It must have been for his mother, too, that he was praying, for we afterwards heard him ask the priest who took up the collection in our part of the church for another novena of masses in the same chapel for the repose of his mother’s soul.
“As we were coming out of church, M. de Macreuse offered us the holy water with a bow, for he had preceded us to the font. A moment afterwards, we saw him distributing alms among a number of beggars who had crowded around him, saying in a faltering voice: ‘The little I can give, I offer you in the name of my mother who is no more. Pray for her.’
“Just as M. de Macreuse was disappearing in the crowd I perceived M. de Maillefort. Whether he was just entering or leaving the church I can not say; but Mlle. Helena, who caught sight of him just as I did, seemed surprised and even disturbed by his presence.
“On our way home she spoke several times of this M. de Macreuse, who seemed to be so truly devout and charitable. She did not know him personally, she said, but she could not help feeling a great interest in him because he seemed to possess virtues seldom found in young men of the present day.
“The next day we went to church again; and again we saw M. de Macreuse. He was performing his devotions in the same chapel, and this time he was so deeply absorbed in prayer that, when mass was over, he remained on his knees with his forehead almost touching the marble pavement, and seemed positively crushed with grief. A moment afterwards he fell backward in a sort of swoon, and had to be carried into the sacristy.
“‘Unfortunate young man,’ whispered Mlle. Helena, ‘how inconsolable he is! How deeply he mourns for his mother! What a noble and tender heart he must have.’
“I shared this feeling of compassion, for who could better sympathise with the sorrow of this young man whose melancholy face indicated the deepest grief.
“Just as the door of the sacristy opened to admit the beadles, who had come to M. de Macreuse’s assistance, M. de Maillefort, who chanced to be directly in their path, began to smile ironically.
“Mlle. Helena seemed more and more disturbed to see M. de Maillefort at church a second time.
“‘This imp of Satan must have come to the house of God for some deviltry or other,’ she remarked to me.
“On the afternoon of that same day, Madame de la Rochaiguë insisted upon my driving with her and one of her friends, Madame la Duchesse de Senneterre, a lady I had never met before. We went to the Bois. There were a great many people there, and as our carriage was moving along at a snail’s pace, Madame de la Rochaiguë remarked to her friend:
“‘Isn’t that your son I see on horseback over there, my dear duchess?’
“‘Yes, I believe it is Gerald,’ replied Madame de Senneterre, turning her lorgnette in the direction indicated.
“‘I hope he will see us, and come and speak to us,’ added Madame de Mirecourt, who was also with us.
“‘Oh, M. de Senneterre will not fail to do that, as the duchess fortunately is with us,’ replied Madame de la Rochaiguë. ‘I say fortunately, but that is not exactly the word, as that lady’s presence prevents us from saying all we would like to say in M. Gerald’s praise.’
“‘Oh, as for that, I warn you I haven’t a bit of maternal modesty,’ answered Madame de Senneterre, smiling. ‘I never hear half enough nice things said about my son.’
“‘However exacting you may be, you ought to be very well satisfied on that score, it seems to me, my dear duchess,’ replied Madame de Mirecourt.
“‘But speaking of M. de Senneterre, did you ever hear why he enlisted as a common soldier, at the age of eighteen?’ continued Madame de Mirecourt, addressing Madame de la Rochaiguë.
“‘No,’ replied that lady, ‘I have heard that, beginning as a common soldier, in spite of his birth, he gained his several promotions, as well as his cross, on the battlefield, at the cost of several wounds; but I never heard why he enlisted.’
“‘Madame la duchesse,’ said Madame de Mirecourt, turning to Madame de Senneterre, ’is it not true that your son enlisted because he thought it cowardly to hire a man to go and be killed in his stead?’
“‘Yes, that is true,’ replied Madame de Senneterre; ‘that is the reason my son gave us, and he carried out his resolution in spite of my tears and entreaties.’
“‘Superb!’ exclaimed Madame de la Rochaiguë. ‘Nobody in the world but M. de Senneterre would ever have made and carried out such a chivalrous resolution as that.’
“‘It is easy to judge of the generosity of his character from that fact alone,’ added Madame de Mirecourt.
“‘Oh, I can say with just pride that there is no better son in the world than my Gerald,’ remarked Madame de Senneterre.
“‘And when one says that, one says everything,’ added Madame de la Rochaiguë.
“I listened in silence to this conversation, naturally sharing in the admiration that M. de Senneterre’s generous act excited in those around me.
“A few minutes afterwards, a party of young men passed us on horseback. One of them, I noticed, paused on seeing us, wheeled his horse around and came back.
“This young man proved to be M. de Senneterre. He bowed to his mother; Madame de la Rochaiguë introduced him to me. He made a few courteous remarks, and then walked his horse along by the side of our carriage while we drove several times around the race-track.
“It is needless to say that scarcely a handsome equipage passed without an interchange of friendly bows between the occupants and M. de Senneterre, who seemed to be a general favourite.
“During the conversation he had with us, he was very gay and a trifle sarcastic, but not the least spiteful.
“A short time before he left us, we met a magnificent carriage, drawn by four horses. Its sole occupant was a man to whom many persons bowed with great deference. This man bowed very low to M. de Senneterre, who, instead of returning the salute, survey
ed him with the utmost disdain.
“‘Why, that was M. du Tilleul that just passed, M. de Senneterre!’ exclaimed Madame de la Rochaiguë, evidently much surprised.
“‘Yes, madame.’
“‘He bowed to you.’
“‘True, madame.’
“‘But you did not return his bow.’
“‘I no longer bow to M. du Tilleul, madame.’
“‘But everybody else does.’
“‘Then they do very wrong, in my opinion.’
“‘But why, M. de Senneterre?’
“‘You ask me that, with his recent affair with Madame—’
“Then suddenly checking himself, probably on account of my presence, he continued, addressing Madame de la Rochaiguë:
“‘You have heard about his conduct with a certain marquise?’
“‘Of course.’
“‘Well, in my opinion, a man who behaves with such cowardice and cruelty is a scoundrel, and I do not bow to a scoundrel.’
“‘Still, he is received everywhere,’ remarked Madame de Mirecourt.
“‘Yes, because he owns the handsomest house in Paris, and everybody wishes to attend his entertainments.’
“‘Oh, you are entirely too particular, M. Gerald,’ said Madame de Mirecourt.
“‘I too particular?’ exclaimed M. de Senneterre, laughing. ‘What a frightful slander! I will convince you to the contrary. Look at that little green brougham coming this way, and that—’
“‘Gerald!’ cried Madame de Senneterre, reminding her son of my presence with a look, for I had involuntarily turned to glance at the vehicle to which M. de Senneterre had called attention, and which was occupied by a young and extremely pretty woman, who seemed to be following the young duke with her eyes.
“His mother’s warning exclamation, and the look she cast at me, made M. de Senneterre bite his lips, but it was with a smile that he replied:
“You are right, mother. It would make angels too unhappy to know that there are such things as demons in the world.”
This half apology was indirectly addressed to me, I suppose, for two of the ladies glanced at me, smiling in their turn, and I felt greatly embarrassed.
“As we were leaving, Madame de Senneterre asked:
“You dine with me to-day, do you not, Gerald?”
“No, mother, and I must ask you to pardon me for not having told you that I had made another engagement.”
“That is very unfortunate, for I, too, have made an engagement for you,” replied Madame de Senneterre, smiling.
“All right, mother,” said M. de Senneterre, affectionately; “I will send my friends a brief note of excuse; then I shall be entirely at your service.”
And after having bowed very deferentially to us, M. de Senneterre started his horse off at a gallop.
“He rides with perfect skill and grace, and on horseback reminds me not a little of my poor father.
“Though he had addressed only a very few remarks to me, I feel sure, from what I saw and heard during this interview, that M. de Senneterre must possess a frank, generous, and resolute nature, as well as a profound respect and affection for his mother. The other ladies must have thought so, too, for they did not cease praising him until we separated.
“The next day and the day following, we again saw M. de Macreuse at church. His grief seemed no less deep, though more calm. Two or three times he happened to glance in our direction, and I could not help being struck by the contrast between his sad, almost timid look and bearing, and M. le Duc de Senneterre’s dashing ease of manner.
“The next day after our visit to the Bois, I accompanied my guardian to the garden of the Luxembourg, as I had promised.
“We had visited the conservatories and the magnificent rose gardens, when we met a friend of M. de la Rochaiguë. He was introduced to me as the Baron de Ravil or du Ravil, I believe.
“This gentleman walked along beside us for several minutes, then, drawing out his watch, he remarked to M. de la Rochaiguë:
“‘Pardon me for leaving you so soon, M. le baron, but I am very anxious not to miss this important session.’
“‘What important session?’ inquired my guardian.
“‘Can it be that you haven’t heard that M. de Mornand speaks to-day?’
“‘Is it possible?’
“‘Certainly; all Paris will be there, for when M. de Mornand speaks, it is an event.’
“‘It is indeed. He is a man of wonderful talent, I think, a man who can hardly fail to be minister some day or other. How unfortunate that I did not hear of this before. I am sure, my dear ward, that the session would have interested you very much, in spite of all Madame de la Rochaiguë’s nonsensical talk, but if I should take you to the chamber now she would be sure to accuse me of having set a trap for you.’
“‘Still, if mademoiselle has the slightest desire to attend the session, I am at your service, M. le baron,’ said our companion; ‘I expected to meet one of my nieces and her husband here, but they have not come, and probably will not, now. I had procured tickets of admission to the diplomatic gallery for them, and if these tickets would be of any service to you—’
“‘What do you say, my dear ward?’
“‘I will do whatever you like, monsieur; but it seems to me a session of the Chamber of Peers might be very interesting,’ I added, chiefly out of regard for my guardian, I fear.
“‘Very well, I will accept your offer, then, my dear M. de Ravil,’ cried M. de la Rochaiguë, ‘and you are lucky, indeed, my dear child,’ he added, turning to me, ‘to happen here on a day M. de Mornand speaks.’
“We hastened towards the palace, and just as we were leaving the quincunxes I saw, some distance off, M. de Maillefort, who seemed to be following us, — a fact that surprised me, and made me rather uneasy.
“‘Why do I meet this wicked man at every turn?’ I said to myself. ‘Who could have informed him of our plans?’
“The diplomatic gallery, where we had seats, was filled with elegantly dressed ladies. I occupied a seat on the upper row of benches between my guardian and M. de Ravil.
“A gentleman near us, having been heard to remark that some noted orator — he did not refer to M. de Mornand — was also to speak during the session, M. de Ravil replied that there was no other orator who could compare with M. de Mornand, and that this crowd had come to hear him. He ascended the tribune almost immediately, and there was a profound silence.
“I was incapable of criticising or even of entirely comprehending M. de Mornand’s discourse. It related to subjects with which I was totally unacquainted, but I was deeply impressed by the conclusion of his speech, in which he spoke with the warmest sympathy of the unhappy lot of fishermen’s families awaiting in sickening suspense upon the beach the return of a beloved father, son, or husband, while the tempest was raging wildly around them.
“It so happened that, as M. de Mornand uttered these touching words, he turned towards our tribune, and his strong face seemed to me filled with a profound compassion for the unfortunate creatures whose cause he had espoused.
“‘Wonderful! How very touching!’ whispered M. de Ravil, wiping his eyes, for he, too, seemed deeply affected.
“‘M. de Mornand is sublime!’ exclaimed my guardian. ‘There is little doubt that his speech will greatly ameliorate the lot of thousands of these unfortunates.’
“Prolonged applause followed the conclusion of M. de Mornand’s speech. He was about to leave the tribune when another member of the Chamber, a man with a malevolent, sarcastic face, rose in his seat, and said:
“‘I ask the permission of the Chamber to ask M. de Mornand a simple question before he descends from the tribune and before his sudden and generous compassion for our brave fishermen shall consequently have evaporated.’
“‘If you will take my advice, we will leave at once to escape the crowd,’ M. de Ravil remarked to my guardian. ‘M. de Mornand having finished, everybody will want to go, for there will be no
thing else of interest.’
“M. de la Rochaiguë offered me his arm, but just as we were leaving the hall we heard shouts of laughter, and renewed applause.
“‘I know what that means,’ remarked M. de Ravil. ‘M. de Mornand has crushed, by his sarcasm, the imprudent member who had the audacity to question any of his statements, for when he wishes to be, M. de Mornand is as witty as the devil.’
“My guardian having suggested that we extend our walk to the observatory, I consented, and M. de Ravil accompanied us.
“‘M. le baron,’ he remarked to my guardian; ‘did you notice Madame de Bretigny, who left the hall just as we did?’
“‘The wife of the minister? No, I did not.’
“‘I am sorry, monsieur, for you would have seen one of the noblest women that ever lived. You have no idea what wonderfully good use she makes of her position as a minister’s wife, or of the vast amount of good she does, the wrongs she repairs, and the assistance she gives to the worthy.’
“‘I am not surprised to hear it,’ replied my guardian. ‘In a position like that of Madame de Bretigny, one can do any amount of good, for—’
“But interrupting himself suddenly, he turned to M. de Ravil and exclaimed, eagerly:
“‘Say, isn’t that he over there in that secluded path, walking along, looking at the flowers?’
“‘To whom do you refer?’
“‘Why, to M. de Mornand. Look!’
“‘You’re right, it is he!’ replied M. de Ravil. ‘He has forgotten his triumph — and is finding a welcome relief from the onerous cares of state in gazing at the flowers. This does not surprise me, however, for, with all his talent and his political genius, he is one of the best and most simple-hearted of men, and his tastes prove it. After his brilliant success, what does he seek? Solitude and flowers.’
“‘M. de Ravil, you know M. de Mornand, do you not?’ inquired my guardian.
“‘Slightly. I meet him occasionally in society.’
“‘But you know him well enough to speak to him, do you not?’
“‘Certainly.’
“‘Then go and congratulate him on the success he just achieved. We will follow you so as to get a closer look at this great man. What do you say to my scheme, my dear ward?’
